Mainspring
by VodkaWarrior
Summary: Jason Voorhees has a very sad upbringing, from his mother's helicopter parenting, his father's alcoholism and abusive actions, and fierce bullying from his fellow campers, it's easy to say his life hasn't been easy. What lead Jason to being the merciless and ruthless killer he is today? This is his origin story.


My name is Jason. I am ten years old, but my birthday is coming up in a little more than three weeks, and I'm really excited about it! Mother said that I was finally ready to attend summer camp this year and make some new friends, and while I'm pretty excited about that too, I'm not sure how it's going to play out. I've gone into town with her before and a lot of people stared at me kind of funny, and after that I realized what Mother meant when she said I was different.

Different is good though... right?

Normal seems boring, but it's what Mother wants for me, and who am I to object to her wishes? She knows more than I do, that's for sure. But if normalcy is what she strives for with our broken little family, why reassure me that i'm different, and that's okay? Does she wish for us to be normal, or different? Life sure is confusing sometimes.

Tiring of trying to read over the science textbook my mother had assigned to me for homework, I sat up in bed, my pale and slightly chubby arms hoisting myself up. Draping my legs over my bed, I closed my textbook silently and stretched, feeling reading fatigue settling into my eyelids. As usual, my ever drifting mind had drawn me from my memorization process. I really needed to work on that if I expected to pass the harsh tests Mother gave to me to see how well I was doing with her home schooling. I briefly wondered if the tests they gave out in public school were similar.

I slid off of my bed and onto my feet, the pens and needles feeling exploding suddenly when blood was finally allowed to flow to my legs after an hour of sitting Indian style with a seven-hundred pager weighing them down. The rough wooden floorboards gave a small squeak as I stepped lightly over to my oak desk, kneeling over it and placing my hands on the surface, turning my gaze up to the mirror that hung on the wall above it, giving myself a good view of my waist and up.

I lifted my right hand and tugged the bottom eyelid of my right eye down a little, watching my skin crinkle up among the bags already under my eyes, making myself look even more tired. I stifled a yawn and barely even registered my reflection like I sometimes did when I got emotional and insecure. It looked like the entire right side of my face had melted and stopped half way through leaving my right eye, half my lip, and a portion of my skull hanging a little lower than the left. It was a pretty drastic difference from Mothers soft and aged face that smiled at me when she saw me, or Father's hard and stoic features that made him always look angry.

Then again, he always was angry, especially when he drank that foul smelling liquid that made him act funny. I shivered when I recalled a time when he had smashed a bottle over my back when I had jumped between him and Mother when they were arguing. I learned my lesson very quickly after that: The foul smelling liquid was bad.

Father was bad. Mother was good.

Father hates me. Mother loves me.

These were just the simple facts.

"Get away from me you crazy bitch!"

A crash was heard that echoed through the thin wooden walls of the one story cabin. I felt a chill go down my spine when I heard my mother cry out seconds after.

"Don't use that word! Jason could hear you!" Pamela choked through her sobs of pain.

I hurried over to the door to exit my room and pulled it open, running down the hall and peeking out from behind the hallway wall so I could see into the living room but remain hidden.

Elias Voorhees was a monster of a man, towering over my mother by a long shot. My mother's small frame was curled up on the ugly red pattern carpet spread out on top of the floorboards, using her shaking hands to block herself uselessly as Elias snapped his enormous hand around her wrist, covering half of her upper arm. He tugged her to her feet roughly. I could see the skin around Pamela's arm already turning a purple color as she stood there, raw fear glistening in her eyes while she returned Elias' bloodshot and enraged gaze.

He pointed one of his fat sausage fingers in her face, a hair away from her nose, "Don't you dare tell me what I can and can't say in my own damn house, and don't you DARE tell me what I can and can't say in front of your freak of a son. He ain't even a man, he's some kind of monster. He's no son of mine."

It stung. As much as I wanted to hate my father, and told myself every day that I did in fact hate my father, a part of me deep down loved him and cared about what he said. How could I not? It was my father. My science book told me all about the finer points of biology and chemicals. That feeling was nothing more than your brain releasing chemicals and signals to ensure survival and stay content in numbers. I'm not sure about all of that, but what I did know was that his words hurt, and so did his hands. It hurt my heart to see my mother's hands black and blue too.

Pamela scowled, trying her best to put on her best defiant face as to keep at least a shred of dignity, "He is not a monster and he is your son! He is a beautiful and amazing little boy! How could you say such things about him?"

Elias quite literally growled, showing his alcohol stained teeth, putting his face right in front of Pamela's. She tried not to, but she couldn't help but flinch, "How do I know he's even my son?" Elias threw her on the ground again and looked down on her with hatred in his eyes, "It wouldn't be hard to believe in the slightest that you lift up your skirt around the entirety of Crystal Lake while you're-" he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers, "-making meals for the campers," he said spitefully with unmasked sarcasm.

He reached to the side table next to the living room couch, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and lifting it to his lips, taking deep gulps of it. He slammed the bottle on the ground, shattering it right next to Pamela's head. The shards of glass bounced off her face and she whimpered in fear.

"That's it, isn't it?" Elias concluded after watching her shiver under his steel toed boots for a few moments. "You're just a whore, throwing yourself at all those young teenage counselors every summer, yeah? You showing them a good time while your devoted, hardworking husband slaves away every single day to provide for you and your bastard child?" He stumbled, throwing his hands in the air in defiance, "Well no more! You think I'm gonna stick around and care for a brat that isn't mine? You're out of your damn mind if you think that's gonna happen a minute longer!"

I froze, grabbing onto the wall for support in my shock. If my father walked out the door, who was going to provide for us? Mother would no longer be able to home school me, and she would have to work at a rundown job for hours and hours just to raise me on her own. She would never be able to make as much money as my father. He couldn't go! He'd be signing our death certificates!

Elias grumbled something to himself and stomped with poor balance to his room that he shared with my mother. I could hear rustling around and I took this opportunity to run to Mother and crouch down next to her, placing my small shaky hand on hers and the other around her shoulder, helping her sit up. She turned to me with tears streaming down her face and a look of utter helplessness in her eyes. She didn't know what she was going to do to stop this from happening. Sure, the money she made from being the cook for the campers at Camp Crystal Lake would hold us over in the summer, but that was only two months long. If we rationed the money, it would be enough to not starve, but that was about it. No money for new clothes, or shoes, or anything was wasn't absolutely essential. It would be a living hell.

But it was a living hell under Elias' drunken rule. Surely wearing the same shoes for an extra year was worth not having to watch Mother cry anymore. I casted a sad look next to the door where my warn out and faded tennis shoes, that were already hanging on by a thread as it is, sat against the wall.

My attention snapped back towards my parents bedroom where Elias came stumbling out holding a full packed bag with most of everything he owned, stowed and ready to walk out the door. My eyes grew wide and without thinking words just started spewing from my mouth in blind panic.

"Please don't go, Father! Mother and I need you to stay here! You can't go!" I jumped to my feet and ran up to him, grabbing onto his shirt and bundling it up into my hands, holding on for dear life, "Please! Don't go!"

He raised the back of his hand and slapped me across the face with such a force i spun completely around, falling onto the floor face first, and hard. My jaw connected with the floorboards and pain exploded so suddenly I gasped for air, my eyes wide in shock. I curled up into a ball and grabbed onto my face, hiding myself in shame as Elias kicked me in the side, glaring at me like I had taken away everything he had ever held dear, which maybe I had. I screamed out in pain and my hands immediately latched onto my side. A drawn out moan of pain escaped my lips. My entire body was on fire, and the tears that flowed down my cheeks like rivers didn't seem to extinguish it.

My mother screamed but Elias paid no mind to her, never taking his eyes off of me, "Don't you ever touch me, you disfigured little freak!" Venom poured and dripped over every word with a ferocity that made me tremble from head to toe in pure, unadulterated terror. He spat on me and walked straight for the door, stopping and shooting daggers in my mother's direction.

"You're nothing but a no good whore. That thing you love so much will grow up to be just like it's whore mother, and I won't be around to watch it happen. You won't drag me down too. Do the world a favor, and just die Pamela Voorhees, and take that thing with you." And with that, he closed the door behind him, and Elias Voorhees was gone from my life forever.

Mother stood on shaky legs and stumbled over to me, grabbing me and pulling me into her lap and wrapping her thin arms around me, pulling me close to her chest and resting her chin on top of my head, sobs wracking her body as she struggled for air between the tears.

I let her hold me, my eyes stuck open, staring into nothing. My body was frozen from the trauma of what had just happened. My father was gone. My mother was broken. I was broken.

As we lie there inside of the four walls that had been a prison for the past ten, almost eleven years of my life, I couldn't help but think to myself as I finally returned my mother's embrace, that the world would be better off if I was never born.


End file.
